


Girls' Night

by SpicedGold



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: A bit of cross-dressing I think, Friends having a good time, Girls Night with boys invited, Inojin has no shame at all, M/M, Poor Shikadai doesn't know what to think, Very frivolous fic, friends being friends, we're just having fun, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 10:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicedGold/pseuds/SpicedGold
Summary: “Is that . . . glitter . . .?”“Yes.”“Any reason you didn’t just show up here in a dress and high heels, maybe?”“Sakura said ‘no’. Apparently there was ‘a line’ . . .”“And it wasn’t before flowers and glitter polish?”





	Girls' Night

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should take up drinking so I have an excuse for ideas like this. Whatever this is, wherever it came from, I hope you enjoy it.

Now, of course, it wouldn’t have been a problem if Shikadai hadn’t asked. If he had just kept his mouth shut, just let it go, none of the following nonsense would have occurred, and his dignity and sanity wouldn’t have suffered the way it had.

But he couldn’t help himself. He just had to know. Because why were Chocho, Sarada, Himawari, and Inojin walking together in the direction of Sarada’s house?

“Uh, where are you going?” Shikadai asked. He had been looking forward to lazing around with Inojin; finding time for just the two of them was an ever-growing challenge. The plan had been to drag his more-than-friend to somewhere isolated, where they could do whatever R-rated activities they wanted. (Okay, he was going to take a nap while Inojin drew, but that wasn’t important.) What was important was that Inojin was following the wrong people.

“We’re having a girls’ night,” Chocho said, with a flick of her hair. “No boys allowed.”

“Inojin’s with you,” Shikadai said flatly, shoving his hands in his pockets and narrowing his eyes at his friends.

Inojin beamed, with his insufferably smug smile that made Shikadai want to punch him in the face. Inojin was the only person Shikadai knew who could make him go through his entire emotional range with a single facial expression.

“Like she said,” Sarada snickered. “It’s a _girls’_ night.”

“You’re not a girl,” Shikadai sighed, raising one eyebrow at Inojin.

He looked unabashed. “Himawari invited me, and everyone is fine with it.”

Shikadai knew nothing good would ever come of Inojin and Himawari hanging out, but he hadn’t expected this. “ _You_ shouldn’t be fine with it.”

Inojin blinked. “Why not?”

“They’re calling you a girl,” Shikadai pointed out.

“What’s wrong with being a girl?” Sarada snapped, suddenly in Shikadai’s space, expression fiery. “Huh? Are you suggesting it’s a problem?”

_What a drag . . ._ Shikadai took a step back. “This is the problem right here. Girls are troublesome. Always complaining and making a big deal out of everything . . .” _Arguing for no reason . . ._

He backed up, ready to make a strategic exit.

“We were supposed to spend time together.” He threw a pointed look at Inojin.

“We can tomorrow,” Inojin promised. “I’ll meet you in the park.”

And that seemed like the end of it. Nothing more than friends hanging out. A bit inconvenient, yes, but Shikadai would survive. And if Inojin wanted to hang out with the girls, more power to him, the oddball.

Shikadai should have known life wouldn’t go that smoothly.

 

Traditionally, Friday nights would find Shikadai out with his team, or out with just Inojin – sometimes having barbeque, sometimes just talking, sometimes hanging out at someone’s house. So it was strange for Shikamaru to find Shikadai at home, alone.

“Why are you moping?” Shikamaru asked, raising an eyebrow at his son, who was sitting at the kitchen table with his face pressed into the wood, having a good sulk.

“Because it’s ‘Girls’ Night’,” he raised his hands, forming air quotes, before letting them fall back into his lap, “And I have no friends.”

Boruto had hijacked Mitsuki for a training session with Konohamaru.

“Where’s Inojin?”

“At Girls’ Night.” Shikadai picked his head up when Shikamaru snorted loudly, and muttered, “Sounds about right.”

“It’s not funny, Dad,” Shikadai grumbled.

“If they make him up in a dress get photographic evidence, because Sai and Ino will owe me a lot of money,” Shikamaru dropped that casually into the conversation.

Shikadai sat up. “What?”

“Nothing important, just get the photo if the situation arises. And don’t tell your mother.” Shikamaru waved off any further enquiries, making a quick escape from the kitchen.

Shikadai sighed, muttering under his breath, “He won’t be wearing a dress.” Even Inojin wasn’t that eccentric and shameless. “It’s just ‘Girls’ Night’. What’s the worst he could do?”

 

“Morning,” Inojin said cheerfully, dropping down next to Shikadai as he sat in the park frowning over a shogi board.

Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “Why are you so happy?”

“I got my nails painted,” Inojin announced, waving his fingers in Shikadai’s face. They were baby blue, the shade almost exactly matching his eyes. Shikadai felt an odd twist of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

“Can you not sound so proud about it?” Shikadai grumbled. He pushed Inojin’s hands away.

“Why? Himawari did a good job. There’s nothing wrong with being proud of a job well done.”

Shikadai rolled his eyes. He concentrated on his game, glancing between it and the rule book. So far he had yet to beat his father in the game. His mind darted back to his father’s comments last night, and he eyed Inojin. “What did you do?”

“Talked a bit,” Inojin said. He flicked some sunshine blond hair from his face. “Himawari painted my nails. I did Sarada’s make up. And Chocho made cupcakes. Why?”

“No reason.” Shikadai studied him carefully. “Why do they have girls’ nights?”

“It’s fun.”

“That’s not really a good answer.”

“It’s a very good answer,” Inojin said, smiling his ridiculously disarming smile. It would have made Shikadai’s stomach flutter if the baby blue manicure hadn’t already made it churn. “It’s the truth. Girls just wanna have fun.”

Shikadai stared at him. Inojin stared back, unblinking.

After a moment, Shikadai sighed. “You’re such a drag sometimes, you know?” He returned his attention to the Shogi board. Painted nails weren’t too bad, he thought. He could live with that. And it was just a once off, anyway, so it wasn’t like he would have to suffer through Inojin’s brazen impulsiveness again.

Oh, how wrong he was.

 

Next Friday, Boruto had gathered his friends for burgers and games, and Shikadai was quite happy, sitting at the restaurant watching Inojin play, as this was more in line with how Fridays were meant to be. He had given up with his own game, tired from a long day of doing absolutely nothing, and was tempted to nap against Inojin’s shoulder. He closed his eyes with a smile when Inojin turned his head a fraction, just enough to press his lips lightly to Shikadai’s head, then refocused his attention on his game.

Boruto was trying to teach Mitsuki how to play. From the shouting and squealing, Shikadai determined it wasn’t going well.

“You’re killing me,” Boruto groaned. “How are you so bad at this? How can someone suck so much?”

“This is fun,” Mitsuki said.

Shikadai snorted, eyes still closed. He had dozed off, finally, before Inojin moved and he slipped off his shoulder and nearly slammed his face into the table. Shikadai sat up, blinking.

“Hey,” Boruto said, cautiously. Sarada and Chocho were standing by their booth. Chocho was armed with a paper bag. “What’re you two doing here?”

“Picking up food for Girls’ Night,” Sarada said. She and Boruto stared at each other. They seemed to never be able to be in the same space without sharing some sort of silent glaring war.

“Oh,” Boruto said. “That again.”

“Are you coming?” Sarada asked Inojin, throwing a dark look at Boruto for good measure.

“Sure,” Inojin chirped. “I had fun last time.”

“But it’s _girls’_ night,” Boruto protested. “Inojin isn’t allowed. He’s not a _girl_.”

“Inojin isn’t as insecure in his masculinity as you are,” Sarada retorted.

“I’m not insecure!”

“In his _what_?” Shikadai said flatly. He thought about the baby blue manicure. “He seems dramatically lacking in masculinity.”

“Also, he’s not rude about girls,” Sarada added. “Maybe if you apologized, we’d let you join us.”

“Hell no!” Boruto said hotly. “I’m not apologizing, and I don’t want to be part of your stupid girls’ night! We’ll have a boys’ night instead! With video games and snacks!”

The two of them exchanged heated glares.

While that was going on, Inojin extracted himself from his seat.

“Are you really going?” Shikadai asked, alarmed.

“Yup.” He nodded. “I’ll come over to your house afterwards and we can hang out more then.”

Shikadai was left staring speechless. Once the girls (Plus one out of place and thoroughly nonchalant boy) left, Boruto snickered.

“The girls just stole your boyfriend.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Maybe it’s because he looks like a girl.”

“He doesn’t,” Shikadai snapped.

Boruto rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he does. A lot of people think so.”

“What does ‘a girl’ look like,” Mitsuki asked, clearly wondering what generic category they were talking about.

“They have blond hair and blue eyes,” Shikadai said instantly, eyes narrowed on Boruto.

Mistuki nodded sagely, as though this was vitally important, while Boruto spluttered indignantly, thwarted and unable to think of a suitable retort.

Shikadai went home to wait for Inojin.

 

“Hi.”

“. . .” Shikadai stared blankly. He drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, considering what to say. Finally, he gave up, and just stated, “You have flowers in your hair.”

“Pretty flowers,” Inojin added happily. “You should see Himawari. Hers are prettier.”

“Why . . . do you . . . have flowers in your hair . . .?”

“We did it during Girls’ Night.” Inojin, rather proudly, studied his nails, before holding a hand towards Shikadai. “Like the colour?”

“Is that . . . glitter . . .?”

“Yes.”

“Any reason you didn’t just show up here in a dress and high heels, maybe?”

“Sakura said ‘no’,” Inojin replied, sounding sulkier than he had any right to. (Shikadai silently thanked Sakura.) “Apparently there was ‘a line’ . . .”

“And it wasn’t _before_ flowers and glitter polish?”

Inojin tossed his head. “I look amazing.”

“You look like a girl.”

“An amazing girl,” Inojin corrected. For a brief moment, Shikadai envied his unbreakable self-confidence. Or his complete and utter lack of dignity. It was difficult to tell which it was, with Inojin. He took a step to the side, allowing Inojin to saunter into his room.

“I brought you a cupcake,” Inojin said, settling a little paper bag down on the shelf next to Shikadai’s bed. He sat on the bed, looking at his nails again, smiling blithely. The glittery green polish was uncannily close to Shikadai’s eye colour.

He chose not to dwell on it. “You’re insane.”

Inojin cocked his head to the side, looking ridiculously innocent. “What’s insane about having fun with my friends?”

“If you tell me ‘girls want to have fun’ again, I think I’ll hit you.”

“You’re very hostile after Girls’ Night.”

“You’re very glittery,” Shikadai replied stiffly.

“Come here,” Inojin patted the bed next to him. Shikadai approached with caution, as though the flowers and glitter might be contagious. When he sat down, gingerly and cautiously, nose wrinkled at the flowers braided into Inojin’s hair, the blond boy placed his hands on Shikadai’s shoulders. “Why don’t we go out, and fix your bad mood?”

“I refuse to be seen in public with you while you have flowers in your hair.”

“Don’t you like them?” The baby blue eyes were doing their thing again – the thing that made Shikadai just want to cave and give in to whatever Inojin demanded. If not for his strong will, the other boy would have him wrapped around his little finger.

“No. Boys don’t wear flowers.”

“I come from a clan that has a lot to do with flowers, and none of the men there get as defensive about them as you do.” Inojin reached a hand to his hair, fingers twirling slightly around a short braid of blond with little white flowers in it. Shikadai wouldn’t admit it, but it was pretty – not that he wanted Inojin looking ‘pretty’. ‘Pretty’ was for girls, painted nails were for girls, and girls’ nights were for girls. Not for Inojin.

“I got my nails done just like your eyes,” Inojin continued, entwining their hands with a soft little smile. “All green and beautiful and special.”

“You get flirtier after Girls’ Night, too.” Shikadai sighed. “Stay here, we can watch a movie together or something. Anything to keep you away from the public. I’ll get snacks.”

Inojin flopped down on his back, the little smile still in place. It did wonderful, awful things to Shikadai’s stomach. He left the room, wandering to the kitchen to see what was around.

Shikamaru was finishing his coffee. “Still waiting for that dress photo.”

“You’re not getting it, so stop bugging me about it,” Shikadai growled. “Everything is such a drag.”

“Including your boyfriend.”

“ _Dad_!”

Shikamaru hid his grin inside his mug. Shikadai sent him a glare – his mother’s glare, Shikamaru would recognise it anywhere – and stormed back to his room empty handed.

Shikamaru chuckled. “Kids these days.”

 

Boruto attempted his next rebellious Boys’ Night in the park, hoping that no one would interrupt since there were no conveniently placed restaurants to stop by on the way to the ever more horrific Girls’ Night.

He was determined to teach Mitsuki how to play their game, and was engrossed in his task, while Inojin and Shikadai battled each other, sitting side by side. The topic, much to Shikadai’s chagrin, turned to the girls soon enough.

“Chocho says she’ll be late for training tomorrow since they’re having a sleepover,” Inojin stated.

“That’s a drag,” Shikadai muttered. “I was hoping to get it done and over with.”

“It was Himawari’s idea,” Boruto said, momentarily accepting defeat in his teachings, and taking his game back from Mitsuki. “She hasn’t had a sleepover before.”

Mitsuki settled at Boruto’s side, looking over his shoulder to observe.

“She’s looking forward to it,” Inojin said.

“How would you know?” Shikadai asked, beating his round against Inojin. Inojin turned his game off, and snuggled closer to Shikadai’s side to watch him play alone.

“We had milkshakes together a few days ago. She’s really been enjoying Girls’ Night, and she said she was glad I joined in. We don’t find much time to hang out, with me so busy on missions and on you.” Inojin shrugged.

“You’re not ‘on me’,” Shikadai grumbled.

“It’s good, though,” Boruto said. “I mean, they’re having fun at least.” Boruto’s tongue peeped from between his lips as he concentrated on his game. “So that’s nice. And Himawari is good at painting nails. She used to practice on me.”

“And you let her?” Shikadai asked. He cast a glance at Inojin, who was frowning, and picking at his nails. The infuriating glitter polish was almost all off.

“Well, yeah,” Boruto shrugged. “She’s my sister, and she asked.”

Shikadai huffed. “No real man would let a woman paint his nails. Especially with glitter,” he added, giving a sidelong glance to Inojin, who smiled back merrily.

“You’re surprisingly fixed in your gender roles, considering your mother,” Mitsuki said blandly.

Shikadai grunted, unable to think of a suitable reply. He concentrated on his game instead, trying to ignore the persistent snick-snick-snicking of Inojin picking paint off his nails. _It’s just that boys do boy things and girls do girl things,_ he thought grumpily. _And never the two shall mix_. How was that hard to understand? And more importantly – how couldn’t Inojin understand that?

“I better go,” Inojin said suddenly, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. “Wouldn’t want to be late for Girls’ Night.”

Shikadai winced.

Mitsuki stood as well.

“Where are you going?” Boruto asked, gawking at his friend.

“To Girls’ Night,” Mitsuki replied instantly. “I was invited.”

“What the hell?” Boruto squawked. “Why were you invited? This isn’t a girls’ night, it’s a systematic take over!”

“Sarada suggested I might enjoy it.” Mitsuki smiled blandly. “And Himawari wanted me to join in. She said she wanted to braid my hair.”

“And you _agreed_?” Boruto gaped. “But its _Girls’_ Night!” He pouted spectacularly. “Why are girls such a pain? Aren’t there enough of them? Why do they need to steal boys for their side as well?”

“We’re baking brownies,” Inojin added, in what he probably thought was a helpful, encouraging way, but actually made Shikadai want to crawl into a hole. “You can come if you want to.”

Boruto snorted derisively. “No, thanks. Not in a million years.” He hunkered down over his game, face set in a frown, making a pointed attempt not to look at Mitsuki and Inojin as they left.

Shikadai lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, watching the clouds drift overhead. Clouds were easier to understand. Much easier than girls – and whatever Inojin thought he was lately. The silence had stretched on for a while before Boruto cleared his throat very softly.

“Do you want to go to Girls’ Night?” Boruto asked in a small voice, keeping his eyes down.

Shikadai blinked at him, turning a look of disbelief at his friend.

“I mean . . . It might be fun. Mitsuki’s there. And Himawari said she really enjoyed herself. And there’s brownies . . .”

“Why does it sound like you’ve already made up your mind?” Shikadai asked flatly.

“Don’t make me go alone,” Boruto begged. “I can’t go into a room full of girls alone. They might, I don’t know, try to do a makeover on me or something.”

“And you think me being there will change that?” Shikadai sat up. “I’m not going. You’re not catching me in the same room as make-up and nail polish, and flowers and stuff.”

Boruto raised an eyebrow. “Your uncle wears make-up.”

“That’s different.”

“So does your cousin.”

“That’s also different.”

Boruto’s pout was stubbornly set on his face. “How?”

“Because . . .” Shikadai floundered for a suitable excuse. “It just is. It’s not the same thing. It’s not girl make-up.”

“So . . . it’s not really the make-up and girl stuff that bothers you, is it? It’s the fact that the girls are trying to put it onto Inojin, right?”

Shikadai looked away, nose tilted up rather disdainfully.

“You don’t mind the girls harassing Mitsuki, or me, or anyone else, and you don’t care if boys wear make-up and glitter – you just don’t want _Inojin_ wearing it!” Boruto pointed accusingly. “Why not? Why can’t he?”

“Because he’s a boy,” Shikadai snapped.

“That’s not the reason! You don’t care what other people do. I could wear rainbow glitter _stilettos_ and you wouldn’t care.” Boruto eyed him. “So why does it bother you when Inojin does it?”

Shikadai didn’t answer.

“We’re going,” Boruto said, getting to his feet and hauling Shikadai up as well. “Chocho’s brownies are amazing, and Mitsuki is there, and you can get over whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

“ _You’re_ bothering me,” Shikadai hissed, trying to get out of Boruto’s iron grip.

“We are going!” Boruto insisted, bravado riding high. “We are not cowards, and we can do this.”

Shikadai sighed. “I hate you.”

“You’ll like me again once we get brownies.”

 

Against his better judgement, and at the risk of his dignity, Shikadai stood at Sakura’s house with a sour expression on his face.

Boruto hovered awkwardly outside the front door, hands shoved in his pockets. He shifted his weight from leg to leg, swallowing audibly. “So, uh . . . Are we doing this?”

“I’m perfectly happy to turn tail and leave,” Shikadai said.

“No,” Boruto jutted his chin out stubbornly. “We can do this. We’re men.” The high-pitched squeal that left his mouth as the door opened before he knocked sounded contrary to his statement.

Sakura smiled at them, not in the least surprised to see two boys standing hesitantly on her front porch. “Hi, you two. You’ve got the house to yourselves, I’ve got to run to the hospital. Have fun.”

She slipped past them, leaving the door open. Before running off, she paused, and turned around. “Shikadai, whatever happens, do not let anyone get a photograph of Inojin in a dress. And whatever your father’s told you – ignore him.”

Shikadai was too flummoxed to respond. Boruto edged towards the door, peering uncertainly into the house. There was the sound of giggling. It almost made Shikadai turn and run, but Boruto grabbed his sleeve before he could.

“We’re men,” he hissed. “And men get brownies!”

“This,” Shikadai sighed, “Is such a drag.”

Bracing themselves for the horror, Boruto and Shikadai slunk into the house.

 

“You came!” Himawari sounded delighted, bounding from the kitchen. “The brownies are baking. Come and see what else we’re doing.” She towed her brother enthusiastically into the lounge. Shikadai trailed behind them, looking furtively around as though assassins might pop out at any moment.

The lounge was a hive of activity. Chocho and Mitsuki were sitting opposite each other, occupied with something Shikadai couldn’t even recognise. Sarada and Inojin were inspecting little bottles of something, apparently talking about colour – was that the dreaded nail polish? Shikadai recoiled.

There were brushes and things that he’d never seen before scattered around. Close inspection showed it to be make-up. Sarada grinned at his clear discomfort. Inojin, now armed with a fine brush and a pot of ink, was painting some sort of design on the back of her hand.

“You’re not putting make-up anywhere near me,” Shikadai warned, drawing back slightly at her malicious grin.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Chocho said blithely. “Inojin’s excellent. There is no one in the world who’s better at applying eyeliner than he is.”

Inojin looked smug.

“How did you even discover that?” Shikadai spluttered, wondering if anyone would notice if he bolted for the door.

“He knows his way around a brush,” Sarada said flippantly.

Inojin’s smugness upgraded to pride.

“No,” Shikadai said firmly. “No make-up. No nail painting.”

“Can I braid your hair?” Inojin asked, appearing behind him unnervingly fast, and already reaching to pull it out of its customary do.

“No,” Shikadai snapped, ducking away. “I’m just here because Boruto wanted to come. Not to do anything.” He eyed Mitsuki and Chocho sitting on the floor, where Chocho was teaching him the proper way to eat fondue. What even _was_ fondue?

“I’m here for Himawari,” Boruto attempted to defend himself. “That’s all. And the brownies.”

“I’m going to paint your nails!” Himawari exclaimed, sounding delighted at the prospect. She seated Boruto firmly in a chair, moving off to gather supplies.

“What colour?” Himawari asked reappearing in front of her brother a moment later, holding up several bottles of nail polish.

Boruto slumped in his seat with a heavy sigh of defeat. “Whatever . . . pick what you want . . .”

Shikadai was staring the sparkling blue crystal earrings in Inojin’s ears as the boy returned to his spot by Sarada, and wondering if he should die of embarrassment on Inojin’s behalf, since the blond seemed wholly unphased by it, continuing to merrily draw a pattern onto the back of Sarada’s hand.

The entire room held a feeling of mortification.

Luckily, everyone ignored Shikadai. He leant against a wall, arms crossed, analysing the activity around him. Eventually, Sarada moved towards her bedroom to fetch something, and Inojin pried Shikadai away from the wall. “You can’t just stand there all night.”

“Yes, I can.”

“At least pretend to have fun.” Inojin sat him down on the floor, plopping onto his knees behind him, and pulling his dark hair free.

Shikadai sighed, watching as Himawari painted Boruto’s toes while he slumped in defeat, lower lip stuck out.

Sarada returned with an armful of fabric. “Hey, Chocho, I need your opinion. I’m going to an event at the hospital with my mom next week, and I need to decide which dress to wear.”

Clothing was definitely _not_ something Shikadai wanted to listen to. He tuned them out, trying to focus on nothing in the hopes he could calm himself down. The proximity to nail polish was a bit unsettling.

However, he did have to admit that it was nice having Inojin’s fingers running through his hair. He settled his face in a death glare so no one would think he was enjoying himself, nodding on occasion as Inojin nattered behind him.

Sarada held two dresses up, and Chocho eyed them critically.

“I like the red one more,” Chocho decided. “But you’d need to try them on.”

“The purple one looks like it’ll fall better,” Sarada mused. She looked around the room, “Hey, Inojin?”

“Hm?” he glanced up. Shikadai was still sitting in a huff in front of him, begrudgingly allowing a daisy to be braided into his hair, having been weakened by a head massage and Inojin’s charming baby boy smile.

“Put this on,” Sarada held out the red dress. “I need to see what it looks like.”

Inojin was half way up before Shikadai yanked his wrist and growled, “Don’t put it on!”

“But she asked me to.”

“Don’t be stupid, you’re not wearing a dress.”

“He’s got the figure for it,” Chocho added, and Boruto erupted into giggles.

“Remember the line, Inojin,” Shikadai snapped. “There was a line.”

“He won’t be leaving the house,” Sarada rolled her eyes. “I just want to see what it looks like.”

“No,” Shikadai growled, getting to his feet, not relinquishing his hold on Inojin’s wrist. “Don’t you dare.”

“I can do what I like,” Inojin snapped back, fighting Shikadai’s hold. “Since when do you get to order me around?”

“You’re not a damn girl, Inojin, so why are you here and what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you’re a dick,” Inojin replied, pale eyes narrowed and ready for a challenge.

Shikadai bit his temper back. He eyed the door, and stormed towards it, dragging Inojin behind him. In the cool privacy of outside, he turned to Inojin again, jaw clenched.

“What’s your problem?” Inojin demanded, pulling his wrist free. “It’s just some fun, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Shikadai retorted. “This whole thing is ridiculous.”

Inojin looked away, head inclined rather haughtily. “No one made you come.” The moonlight reflected briefly off the blue crystals in his ears.

It made Shikadai irrationally angry.

“And take those stupid earrings off,” Shikadai snapped.

“No,” Inojin backed away, looking defensive. “I like them.”

“You can’t even see them, and they look stupid.”

“Why do you care?” Inojin asked. “I can wear whatever I like.”

“Because you don’t look like you,” Shikadai argued.

Inojin tilted his head to the side. “Huh?”

“You don’t . . . ugh,” Shikadai sighed. _Well, we’re this far down the rabbit hole, might as well go the whole way_ – “I like it when you look like you. Just you. I like your bangs all messy. I like it when you’ve got ink on your fingers, and I like it when you’re wearing your clothes because it’s _you_. I don’t like it when you dress up and paint your nails and wear stupid sparkly earrings because I love you the way you are already-“ Shikadai cut himself off, suddenly realising his confession.

Inojin was still staring at him with his head at an angle, expression unreadable.

“I mean – I don’t . . . well I do, but . . . Ugh, what a drag,” Shikadai finished in a pathetic mutter. He drew in a deep breath. “I don’t like girls,” Shikadai mumbled. “I don’t want you to be a girl . . .”

“I’m not being a girl, we’re just having fun. Himawari likes to paint nails, and Chocho likes to braid hair, and I like talking to them and helping them practice. That’s all. But I’m still your boy,” Inojin smiled, his sunny smile. “That never changes.”

Inojin beamed warmly, one hand playing with a blue earring. “That’s why you’ve been in such a bad mood? Because you like me the way I am?”

Shikadai shrugged. “I just want you. Don’t ever change. I don’t care if Boruto or Mitsuki want to paint their nails and get Sarada to do their make-up and wear whatever that weird shiny looking thing was she was holding-“

“A dress.”

“- But not you. And I know I have no right to tell you to do anything, but . . . you. Just you. You the way you’ve always been,” Shikadai reached out a hand to brush some of Inojin’s pale hair behind his ear. He sighed. “I hate the earrings.”

“Buy me nicer ones, then.” Inojin laid a hand on Shikadai’s shoulder. “I’m still me. All the time. All for you. Just because I’m enjoying time with Sarada and Chocho doesn’t mean you’re any less important, or I’m any less ‘me’.” There was his sweet smile again, the one that made Shikadai fall for him in the first place. Childish and bubbly and impossible to ignore.

Shikadai relented, nodding. “Okay.”

Inojin’s smile broadened, and he leaned in to kiss Shikadai softly on the mouth, just a chaste, innocent touch of lips. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go back inside.”

Shikadai grimaced. “Are you . . . wearing lip gloss?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

Shikadai wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “This is the last Girls’ Night you are ever going to. And you’re not putting that dress on.”

“I won’t. If it bothers you that much.”

“Thank you,” Shikadai sounded relieved.

Inojin linked their hands together, tugging Shikadai back inside. “Can I paint your nails? I’ve never done it before.”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“We knew that already.”

 

As it turned out, whilst Shikadai was having his temper tantrum – very unmanly, Sarada had chided later – she had successfully convinced Boruto and Mitsuki to each put a dress on, and she, Chocho, and Himawari were discussing the pros and cons of each one.

Shikadai had no idea Boruto could turn as red as he was. He put the dress to shame.

 

Shikadai came home with one daisy in his hair that Inojin insisted he leave and a black eye from a scuffle with Sarada over whether or not she could hold him down and put make-up on him. The answer was yes, she could, but he had fought back rather violently, and Sarada had eventually given up and gone after a more willing target.

Mitsuki had put up less of a fight.

“Flowers now?” Shikamaru raised an eyebrow as his son slunk through the house. He lowered his crossword to watch Shikadai try to slide past unnoticed.

“Don’t say anything,” Shikadai warned, lifting a hand to cover the incriminating evidence. “It’s Inojin’s fault.”

“What’s that blue stuff above your eye?”

Shikadai scrubbed at it again, with a frustrated noise. “Argh, its eye shadow and it doesn’t come off. Damn it, I told Sarada not to.”

“And the other eye . . .?”

“I got punched.”

Shikamaru tilted his chin up slightly. “Right.”

Shikadai muttered under his breath, moving towards the bathroom for his next attempt at cleaning himself up. Shikamaru watched him go, wondering what had gone on at the infamous ‘Girls’ Night’.

“By the way, Shikadai?”

“Yeah?” He called back from the bathroom, voice echoing slightly.

“You have lipstick on your neck.”

There was an indignant sounding squeak from inside the bathroom. “Inojin said it wouldn’t show!”

Shikamaru smirked. Ah, to be young and foolish again. “Did you get that dress photo yet?”

“No! And I’m not going to!”

Young, foolish, and incredibly defensive.

Shikamaru returned his attention to his crossword.

 

“It’s not girls’ night, and it’s not boys’ night,” Boruto explained. “It’s just . . . Friend Night.”

“Okay,” Mitsuki said agreeably. He was seated happily on Sakura’s couch. ‘Friend night’ was unanimously voted to be at Sarada’s house, since Sakura was usually out working.

“Hey, Sarada,” Boruto was sitting in front of the TV fiddling with the controllers and trying to get his game set up. “Can you lift the TV? I can’t reach to plug in the cable.”

“No,” Sarada said, sounding somewhat huffy. She was grumpily ensconced on one of the big armchairs. “You know I almost broke my ankle at that stupid hospital event, and Mama says to wait until tomorrow before she can heal it.”

“You were in a hospital,” Inojin said bluntly. “Could no one there heal it?” He did not volunteer to get up and help Boruto himself, mostly because he had Shikadai pinned to the couch, and didn’t want to get up and risk him escaping.

Shikadai, lying resignedly against an arm rest, with Inojin’s back against his chest, was allowing one hand to be painted to stop Inojin’s whining.

“It’s the stupid high heels’ fault,” Sarada complained. “No one can walk in those things without almost killing themselves.”

“Maybe you’re just clumsy,” Boruto offered.

“I’d like to see _you_ walk in them, never mind dance,” Sarada snapped.

“Fine,” Boruto stood up, eyes narrowed in challenge. “Bring it on. Where are they?”

Sarada raised an eyebrow. “At the front door. Be my guest.”

 

About ten minutes later Boruto was sitting on the floor looking rather morose, with one ankle swelling dramatically.

Himawari was charging around the room in Sarada’s shoes, gleefully announcing the ease with which she could.

“I told you,” Sarada said, grinning at Boruto. “It’s not that easy.”

“Make Mitsuki try,” Boruto grumbled.

Obligingly, Mitsuki left his seat on the couch to attempt Sarada’s shoes. Chocho took his place on the couch, sitting down next to Inojin and Shikadai and checking on Inojin’s progress with nail painting.

“Looks good,” she said, munching on chips to the sound of Mitsuki falling on his face. “Why that green? Why didn’t you use the glitter one?”

“He turned an unhealthy shade of purple when I suggested it,” Inojin said, lying a bit more firmly against Shikadai’s chest.

“Take it off when you’re done,” Shikadai grumbled into Inojin’s hair. Inojin was holding his hand firmly, fingers entwined to keep Shikadai from smudging any polish.

“No.” Inojin glanced up when Mitsuki almost landed on him. “It’s not that hard to walk in high heels, dumbass.”

“Really?” Boruto challenged. “Have you ever done it?”

Inojin released Shikadai’s hand, handed the bottle of nail polish to Chocho, and stood up. Before Shikadai could move out the way, Chocho shuffled over and grabbed his hand to finish the job.

Shikadai closed his eyes and pretended he was somewhere else. When he opened them again, Inojin was strutting proudly around the room in several inch heels. Shikadai wanted to close his eyes again and see if that would make the horror go away.

It did not.

“See? I told you it’s not hard.” Inojin looked at Sarada. “You must be really clumsy.”

“I know walking in them is easy enough,” Sarada snapped. “But I was _dancing_. In a _dress_. That is not as easy as it looks, the fabric kept getting wrapped around my legs and I clearly needed more practice. That was the hard part. It was impossible not to trip at least once. So don’t tell me I’m clumsy, when I’ll bet you couldn’t do it either.”

Inojin’s eyes narrowed. It raised Shikadai’s suspicions.

“Inojin,” he said warningly. “No.”

“I’ll dance with you,” Himawari offered keenly.

“Inojin . . .”

After a moment of consideration, Inojin flicked his hair back. “Fine. Where’s the dress?”

“Inojin, _NO_!”

 

“Stop squirming,” Boruto ordered, trying his best to avoid getting hit in the face.

“I said no damn dresses!” Shikadai snarled, fighting valiantly against the grip of Boruto, Chocho and Mitsuki.

“You said no more Girls’ Nights,” Inojin corrected, running his fingers through his loose hair. He reached one hand back, checking the dress zip was pulled up correctly. He looked at Sarada. “So what do I get if I can dance for the whole song without breaking an ankle?”

Himawari spun in front of him, ready and keen.

“So far, a really, _really_ angry boyfriend,” Sarada snorted. “But if you can, I’ll concede that I am clumsy.”

“Done,” Inojin beamed.

“Let me go and I’m gonna kill everyone!” Shikadai scrambled against Chocho’s head lock. “Inojin, get out of that damned dress right now!”

Sarada selected a song on her phone, and started it. “Can you guys, like, get Shikadai to shut up? I want to record this and all I can hear is him screaming.”

“Don’t you d-“ Shikadai was suddenly muffled by Boruto’s palm. He yanked one arm free.

“Catch him!” Boruto yelped to Mitsuki. Mitsuki grabbed Shikadai’s wrist.

“Yeah, don’t let him get his hands free,” Chocho said casually, as though she didn’t have her team mate in a head lock. “If he catches Inojin in his Shadow possession he’ll make him take the dress off.”

“Kinky,” Boruto grunted. He got bitten for that, and swore under his breath, but refused to let go.

One song later – Shikadai wouldn’t admit it but Inojin and Himawari dancing together was actually sweet, although the adorableness was somewhat tempered by being held down by three of his friends – Boruto let him go, and Chocho released her hold, and Mitsuki smiled at him in his bland and obscure way.

Shikadai slouched, expression thunderous. “I’m going to kill you all.”

“Well,” Sarada smirked, snapping a quick photo of Inojin while he smiled triumphantly at her, “Clearly I am very clumsy. But I think we can count the first ‘Friend Night’ as very successful. And Inojin, you look amazing in purple.”

“I know.” Inojin turned his smile to Shikadai. He extended a hand. “Wanna dance?”

“ _No_!”

 

Shikadai flopped onto his bed with a groan, feeling as though the entire world was against him. Did Inojin have no shame? (He knew the answer to that already. No, he didn’t. Inojin was a perfect blend of his mother’s confidence and his father’s inability to comprehend people, and as such had no self-consciousness whatsoever. Occasionally, Shikadai admired that. More often than not, it made him want to strangle someone.)

And now there was a photo of Inojin in a purple dress and high heels. And a video. Was it too much to ask that Sarada would keep it to herself?

Shikadai had the answer to his question sooner rather than later. His phone beeped, and he glanced at it wearily, only to find Sarada had sent him the photo.

And apparently she had sent it to the rest of the world too, because he heard a triumphant yell from the other side of the house.

“ _Yes_! I win! Temari, we’re going out for dinner tomorrow night, anywhere you want!”

Shikadai sighed, closing his eyes.

“What are you going on about?” His mother’s voice.

“Look! I won the bet! Remember, when Shikadai was about two, I told Ino her son would be in a dress one day and you hit me? Oh, look, there’s a video too.”

Shikadai groaned into his pillow. Would this nightmare never end?

“Oh, that’s cute. Wow, Inojin dances really well.”

“Ino insisted he knew how. Then he taught Chocho. I wonder if they convinced Shikadai to learn?”

“Pfft, no. He wouldn’t be bothered.”

“He probably wouldn’t have the attention span. He just sorta stares at Inojin when he dances. Drools a bit, too.”

“You know I can hear you?” Shikadai shouted.

“Thanks for the photo!” Shikamaru shouted back.

“Ugh,” Shikadai pressed his face into his pillow again. Maybe if he suffocated himself he wouldn’t ever have to hear about this again.

 

It would haunt him forever.

“Did you tell _everyone_?” Shikadai hissed to Sarada, around the time the fourth person stopped by at their table to mention the video.

Sarada shrugged. “I just sent it to our friends. And it must have spread from there.”

“I told everyone,” Boruto claimed loudly, sipping his drink. “Showed everyone too. Come on, it was cool. Why would we keep that to ourselves?”

“And everyone agreed that Inojin looked fabulous,” Chocho added. “And every girl who’s watched it has been very impressed with his balance in heels.”

“He was having fun,” Mitsuki said. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“There might be,” Shikadai said snappily. “Because I’ve had three days of my dad bragging about how he won the bet, and Ino isn’t speaking to him, and Sakura is so mad, and you guys _videoed my boyfriend in a dress!_ ”

“So?” Sarada asked. “He didn’t mind.”

“That’s part of the problem! Everything with you is such a drag. This is all because of your stupid Girls’ Night. This is why Inojin shouldn’t have been allowed in the first place. Because it led to all _this_.” He huffed, making a final point, “And his parents are mad.”

“Oh, Dad liked the photo,” Inojin said, smiling and tucking some wispy sunshine hair behind his ear. “He framed it.”

“So next Friend Night,” Boruto mused. “What should we do? Should we go out somewhere, maybe try something new?”

“We should try a new restaurant,” Chocho suggested.

“We could play games all night and have a sleepover,” Boruto added.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Mitsuki said. It was a highly unnecessary declaration, as Shikadai was certain Mitsuki would cut his own head off if Boruto asked him to.

“Maybe we should keep it a bit less dramatic this time,” Sarada reasoned. “Shikadai nearly burst a blood vessel last week.”

He glowered, but said nothing.

“What about a movie night? That’s easy, and shouldn’t involve any head locks or blackmail or broken limbs.”

“Sounds good,” Chocho nodded.

“We’re in,” Inojin said, flicking his eyes to Shikadai, then to Sarada.

“Okay. But games next time,” Boruto decided.

Shikadai was somewhat relieved. After the last few ‘get togethers’, he was looking forward to a night of calmness.

 

Movie Night proved far more lowkey and relaxing than Friend Night had been.

Nearing the end of the second movie, Shikadai found himself as one of only two people still awake.

Chocho and Himawari had dozed off earlier, snuggled down into a pile of blankets, surrounded by snacks. Sarada had been sitting next to Boruto, and had drooped onto his shoulder about an hour earlier, and shortly afterwards Boruto had tipped sideways onto Mitsuki, and was drooling quietly onto his sleeve. Mitsuki was awake, and occasionally sent a look to Shikadai, as though checking he was still coherent.

Shikadai lay sprawled across the arm chair, chomping lazily through a bowl of popcorn, with Inojin snuggled into his side, long since asleep. The room was dark, and relatively quiet, except for the humming of the TV.

It was far more in line with what Shikadai envisioned Friend Nights to be. He dipped his head down to press a kiss to Inojin’s head, and Inojin smiled softly, burrowing slightly deeper into Shikadai’s chest.

Shikadai eased his phone out to snap a photo of Boruto and Sarada in case he ever needed it for blackmail. Then, absently, he held his phone up to capture Inojin asleep across his chest. Inojin snorted lightly, hand clutching at Shikadai’s shirt. Shikadai tried not to sigh at the pale blue polish on his fingers. Some Girls’ Night Traditions had leaked into Friend Night.

At least there had been no dresses or make-up or flowers. Shikadai shifted around, finding a more comfortable position. It was hard with Inojin’s dead weight against him.

“Friend Night is almost as much fun as Girls’ Night was,” Mitsuki said softly, smiling blithely. He looked at Boruto, passed out against him and starting to snore.

“It was fractionally less mortifying,” Shikadai replied, groping around for the blanket he knew was nearby. Finally locating it, he slung it over himself and Inojin, effectively hiding the blue polished fingers. Out of sight, out of mind.

Shikadai supposed all the indignity and horror was probably worth having Inojin snuggled against him, thoroughly content and surrounded by friends. It worked out okay in the end.

Well, mostly.

 

 

 

“Your toenails are painted green.”

“Dad, just . . . shut up. Ugh, what a drag.”


End file.
